"Fear is the most loyal servant of memory."
---
Streets of Gotham
It started with screams.
A gang of Black Mask's thugs cornered a family in the Narrows, guns raised, acid bottles gleaming in the streetlight. The father begged, the mother shielded her child.
The thugs laughed. "This is Gotham, sweetheart. Nobody saves you here."
Then it came.
THUMP… THUMP… THUMP.
The King Engine.
The thugs turned, but the sight froze them mid-breath. King stepped out of the smoke, rain sliding down the scar across his eye. No mask. No cape. Just presence.
They panicked, firing instantly. Bullets tore through the night — sparks, flashes, ricochets. But every round flattened uselessly against King's skin, clattering like coins on stone. He didn't even blink.
One thug screamed and hurled a vial of acid. The liquid splashed across King's chest — and rolled down harmlessly, sizzling out on the wet pavement as though it were no more dangerous than spilled tap water.
Another thug, desperate, unleashed a fear toxin canister. The choking yellow mist spread fast — enough to drop a crowd of civilians screaming into madness. But King walked through it, utterly unchanged. When he exhaled, the mist broke apart like fog under sunlight, scattering harmlessly.
The thugs dropped their weapons, trembling.
King's voice rumbled, calm, steady. "Gotham has had enough of cowards with toys."
He raised one hand. Just one. The thugs dropped to their knees. Not because he touched them. But because their own bodies refused to stand before him.
He turned then, and gently placed his massive hand on the trembling child's shoulder. "You're safe now."
The boy's sobs stopped. The family clung together. The street fell silent but for the rain.
And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, Batman watched.
Clash of Wills
Later that night, the Bat-Signal cut through the clouds. But instead of summoning Batman, it revealed King — standing on the rooftop beside it, arms folded, staring at the city he'd shaken.
Batman landed in silence behind him. Cape flowing, voice sharp. "You're playing a dangerous game."
King didn't turn. "You mistake existence for play."
"You tore apart the sky. You terrify civilians. You step into fights that aren't yours." Batman's tone was pure iron. "This city is under my watch. I decide what lines can't be crossed."
Now King turned. Slowly. The scar caught the Bat-Signal's glow, his gaze steady as the stone gargoyles around them.
"Your city? You mistake guardianship for ownership."
Batman's fists clenched. "This is my mission. My responsibility. You have no right—"
"I have every right." King interrupted, his voice low but thunderous. The King Engine rumbled, rolling across the rooftop. "Because I exist. I walk these streets. I see suffering. And I act. That is all the right a man needs."
Batman stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You're a variable I can't control. And in Gotham, uncontrolled variables kill."
King leaned in, towering over him without aggression, only weight. His words fell like anvils.
"Then mind your own business, Batman. I am not your soldier. I am not your enemy. I am simply what Gotham has never had — a man who cannot be moved."
For a moment, the rooftop felt like a battlefield. Batman's cape snapped in the wind, King's scar caught in the glow, the signal blazed above them both.
And Gotham below whispered of the man bullets could not kill, acid could not burn, and fear itself could not touch.
The Immovable Man.
King.
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